Episode Three:Between What Was and What Is
936 Words
I tried to stay away.
For three days after I left Jace’s apartment, I ignored his texts. I buried myself in meetings, in spreadsheets, in wedding plans that now felt like someone else’s checklist.
Claire sent me fabric swatches for bridesmaid dresses. Her mother left voicemails about caterers and seating charts. Friends posted engagement congratulations I didn’t feel I deserved.
I kept telling myself I had made a mistake. That the kiss, the night, the second night—it was all a break in judgment. A moment of weakness.
But then I’d close my eyes and feel Jace’s hands on me. His voice in the dark.
Not a moment of weakness.
A moment of truth.
By Friday, Claire noticed I wasn’t sleeping.
“You’re distant,” she said while we walked through a wedding showroom, arms linked.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
She gave a small smile. “I know. It’s a lot, planning all this.”
She thought I meant napkins and invitations.
And I let her think it.
Because the real answer was this: I couldn’t stop wondering what my life would look like if I stopped lying.
That night, I drove through the city alone.
I didn’t plan to see Jace. I told myself I was just thinking. Driving helped me think.
But somehow, I found myself parked across the street from his apartment.
The lights were on.
I could see the edge of a painting in the window.
I could feel my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest.
I didn’t knock.
I just sat there, engine off, fingers tight around the wheel.
And then my phone buzzed.
“Are you outside?”
I looked up.
He was standing in the window, phone in one hand, watching me.
When he opened the door, he didn’t smile.
He didn’t say anything.
He just stepped back, and I stepped in.
And the silence between us was louder than ever.
“I wasn’t going to text you,” he said finally.
“Why not?”
“Because you left. Again.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“That you’re engaged? That you’re confused? That you don’t want to be seen with someone like me?”
“I’m here now.”
“But for how long?” he asked, his voice low. “Are you going to keep running back to comfort every time this gets hard?”
His words hit hard because they were true.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted.
Jace turned away, back to the window, arms crossed.
“I’m not your experiment, Ethan.”
“You’re not. I swear, you’re not.”
“Then what am I?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
Because he was the first thing that had made sense in months—and the last thing I was allowed to have.
He turned back, eyes darker now, hurt rising beneath the calm.
“You say you’re here now. Fine. But I’m not going to play house with you in secret. I’ve been that for someone before. It almost destroyed me.”
I took a slow breath.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You already are.”
I sat on the arm of the couch, head in my hands.
“I want to be honest,” I said quietly. “I’m just scared.”
“Of being gay?”
“Of being me. Of being something I don’t recognize anymore. I had a life. A fiancée. A path. And now all I see is this fog.”
Jace moved closer, but didn’t touch me.
“I’m not asking you to jump into labels. I’m not asking for promises. But if you’re going to keep stepping into my world, you need to stop leaving your truth at the door.”
His voice softened.
“I need to know if you’re willing to fight for something real. Not perfect. Just real.”
I looked up at him.
“I feel more like myself with you than I ever did without you.”
“Then stop hiding,” he said. “From me. From her. From yourself.”
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest and admit that I was already in too deep.
But my phone buzzed.
Claire.
“Call me. We need to talk.”
I stood slowly. “I need to go.”
Jace nodded, but I could see it in his eyes—he was starting to close again.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I know,” he replied. “But sorry doesn’t hold anything together.”
I left without kissing him.
He didn’t ask me to stay.
When I got home, Claire was in the kitchen, barefoot, drinking a glass of red wine.
She looked up as I walked in. Her expression was calm, but too still.
“I saw your car parked downtown,” she said.
My blood turned to ice.
“Were you meeting a client?”
I didn’t speak.
She set the wine glass down. “Just tell me, Ethan. Am I planning a wedding alone?”
I swallowed hard.
And her voice cracked, just slightly. “Is there someone else?”
I opened my mouth.
But I didn’t get the chance to lie.
She took one step closer and asked—
“Are you in love with someone else?”
And for the first time in my life,
I didn’t answer out of fear.
I answered with the truth.
- Writer
